Brightest and Best (16 page)

Margaret drew lunchtime recess duty. She welcomed the brisk breeze on her face, though she could not help raising her hands to be sure her hair remained tucked into its bun. The rumble of Gray’s truck bounced around her ears, and for a moment she thought she had let her imagination go too far. Then a truck pulled up to one of the wide doors at the rear of the building, and Gray emerged from the cab. He looked up, caught her eye, and smiled. Margaret wanted to wave, but she could not bring herself to do it in front of a playground full of children and teachers. Gray opened the back of his truck and began lifting out desks. She’d heard one of the upper grades needed additional seating. Even from this distance, Margaret saw the muscles in Gray’s forearm ripple and had to avert her eyes.

Miss Hunter, from the third grade, sidled up to Margaret. “Did you hear what those people are doing?”

“What people?” Margaret pointed at a boy. “Elliott Lewis, you keep your hands to yourself.”

“Your friends the Amish,” Miss Hunter said. “They’re in the office now.”

Margaret’s brow furrowed, and her heart sped up. “Who?”

“I don’t know their names. You might, since you visited them.”

Margaret returned her gaze to Gray, who now pushed a cart stacked with four desks toward the entrance.

“Go see,” Miss Hunter said. “I’ll watch things out here.”

“I’d better get the door for that delivery,” Margaret said, already stepping away from the playground.

She reached the door just in time to hold it open for Gray. Circumspect, he nodded his head in appreciation and pushed the cart through.

“Where do you suppose these go?” he said.

“Someone in the office will want to deal with them,” Margaret said. “This way.”

Until now, Gray’s courtship and Margaret’s work were separate spheres orbiting her life but not crossing paths. It was oddly delicious to see him in the middle of the day, his nearness fluttering her heart as usual. Walking beside him down the wide corridor, she forced herself not to hope he would kiss her, as she would have at home. That was simply out of the question here. She took a deep breath and clicked her heels along the tile a little more energetically.

The door to the school office was propped open. Simply walking down the hall with Gray had been enough to make Margaret forget Miss Hunter’s remark that there were Amish in the office. Now she tried to absorb the scene. Mr. Tarkington stood with hands in his suit coat pockets, scowling at two sets of Amish parents. Margaret fished around in her brain for their names. The Masts and the Borntragers.

“I’m afraid that is not how things are done,” Mr. Tarkington said.

“Is it against the law?” Chester Mast asked, holding his gaze on the principal.

The principal opened his mouth, closed it, and finally formed a sentence. “I’ll have to check the regulations and consult with the superintendent. This is highly unorthodox.”

“You’ve been telling us to put our children in school, so we are here to do that,” Isaiah said. “In the eighth grade.”

“But these pupils have already completed the eighth grade. They belong in the high school next door.” Mr. Tarkington turned to Chester Mast. “I was under the impression that your son was already studying in the ninth grade.”

“And now he’s going to study in the eighth grade,” Chester insisted, “along with the Borntrager boy. They’ll soon catch up on the lessons.”

“I imagine so,” the principal said, “since they completed the eighth grade two years ago.”

“The law says they have to go to school,” Chester said, “but I don’t believe it says what grade they have to be in. These children will go to the eighth grade.”

Tarkington scoffed. “Do you intend to retain them in the eighth grade until they reach sixteen years of age?”

This possibility had never occurred to Margaret.

“I’m going to need a signature for my records,” Gray said. “I can’t just leave the desks in the hall.”

Margaret turned to him, one ear still cocked toward the commotion in the office. “Will it suffice if I sign? Mr. Tarkington has his hands full.”

“I suppose.” Gray handed her a sheet of paper and a pen. “I’m glad not to be in his shoes. They seem like stubborn people who are not about to do what he wants.”

Margaret scribbled a signature. Superintendent Brownley was not going to like this any more than the principal did.

“They’re not stubborn,” she said. “They want what is best for the children.”

Unconvinced, Gray exhaled through his nose as he lifted one of the desks off the cart and lined it up against the wall. “It would be a lot easier for everyone if they just did what they’re supposed to do.”

Margaret already anticipated a summons to the superintendent’s office and a mandate to talk some sense into the Amish.

I
n the eleven months since Rachel and her boys entered the Hilty household, Ella had become accustomed to the sound of an automobile rattling down their lane. Lindy Lehman turned up at unpredictable intervals and was always welcome. This time, though, instead of the engine’s revolutions slowing and its intrusive tumult tapering as it approached the house, the car roared at high speed.

Ella stood in the yard on Monday with a large basket of straw, getting ready to freshen the henhouse. She started to wave but opted to step out of the way as the car veered toward the spot she occupied.

Lindy braked hard and the car lurched to a halt.

And Ella saw David hanging his head on the passenger side of the bench.

Lindy got out. “I hope Rachel is here.”

Ella nodded. “What’s wrong? Is David all right?”

“It’s best if I talk to Rachel.”

“Go on in.”

Lindy glanced at David. “I’d better stay here. Would you ask Rachel to come out, please?”

“Of course.” Ella brushed straw off her hands.

David had begun to squirm and his fingers gripped the door handle.

“Stay right there, David.” Lindy’s tone made no allowance for discussion.

Ella found Rachel in the boys’ bedroom upstairs, changing the linens on their beds. Rachel dropped the pillowcases and raced down the stairs. Ella followed, determined to keep silent but unable to turn away from the commotion. Obviously David had left the farm again early Monday morning. Where Lindy found him was the curious question.

“David!” Rachel said, startled.

“You can get out now,” Lindy said.

“You’re supposed to be in the field with Jed.” Dread seeped through Rachel’s voice.

“He was a long way from the field,” Lindy said. “David has something to tell you.”

David opened the door now and got out of the car. “I’ll go to the field now.”

“David,” Lindy said. “You know what you need to do.”

“Can’t you just let me go find Jed? Isn’t that what you all want?”

Ella’s gaze snapped up. David’s complexion flushed.

“Sneaking around is not the way,” Lindy said. “You have to talk to your mother.”

David exhaled heavily. “There’s an assignment due in my literature class. If I don’t turn it in today, I’ll get a zero.”

School. Just as Ella thought.

“Literature class?” Rachel echoed. “You’ve been leaving Jed with all the work so you could go to that
English
school?”

“I
like
school,
Mamm
,” David said. “What is so wrong with wanting to learn?”

Rachel calmly pivoted to face Ella. “Would you please take the cart, find your father, and tell him it’s urgent that he come to the house?”

Twenty minutes later, Jed had little to say as Ella drove the cart back from the field where he had abandoned his tools and tasks to answer his wife’s summons. When they reached the house, Lindy’s car was still there. Ella stopped the horse long enough to let her father out of the cart before pulling alongside the stable to unhitch the buggy and send the horse into the pasture.

She grimaced slightly as she opened the back screen door, which tended to both creak and slam. The kitchen was empty. Voices wafted from the front room. The worn state of her shoes made little sound as she crossed the kitchen linoleum and leaned against a wall to listen.

“How many days have you been to school?” Jed demanded.

“I don’t know,” David mumbled. “I haven’t been counting.” School started only two weeks ago. Based on his absences from the farm, Ella reasoned David had been to school at least half the time.

“Why would you contradict my express wishes?” Jed said.

“What about
my
wishes?” David said.

“David!” Rachel’s tone was sharp with warning. “Don’t speak to Jed that way.”

Ella peeked into the front room. David slumped deep into the davenport.

“Where did Lindy find you this morning?” Jed leaned forward, hands on knees.

“Does it matter?” David said.

“I want to know.”

“I hitched a ride into Seabury.”

“I saw him getting out of a car,” Lindy supplied. “He should talk to you. A calm conversation would be better than sneaking around.”

David huffed and turned his face to Lindy. “Can’t you see where this is getting me?”

“I hope it will keep your relationship with your mother honest,” Lindy said.

“So you’re on her side.”

“I’m not on anybody’s
side
—”

“You could have fooled me.”

Rachel choked back a sob. “David, please.”

“I’ll fix some
kaffi
.” Lindy stood. “Perhaps we all need a moment to calm down.”

“Yes,” Rachel said, “and I have coffee cake.”

Ella looked from the coffeepot on the stove to the cake on the counter.

“I don’t need cake and
kaffi
,” David said. “I want to go to school and turn in my literature paper. It’s the first real grade of the year.”

The pleading in his voice pierced Ella. How much had David been holding inside all these months?

“David’s right,” Jed said. “We don’t need cake and
kaffi.
We have work to do.”

“Jed, please,” Lindy said. “Let’s figure this out.”

“Your friendship means a great deal to Rachel,” Jed said. “But I am her husband. We have already talked about this and made our decision.”

“But David—”

“David will not go to school.”

Ella grimaced. Her father was not an unreasonable man, but once he made up his mind, he rarely saw the purpose in revisiting the same question.

“He’s fifteen,” Jed said. “He’s capable in the fields, and I need him. If he wants to read in his spare time, he is free to do so. I’ve never kept my own daughter from her books as long as the work was finished.”

David rolled his head against the back of the davenport.

Jed stood. “Come on, David. We’ve lost enough of the morning already.”

Ella ran her hand across her face.
David, David, David.
The boy did not know what he was up against.

Jed strode across the room, opened the front door, and waited. David unfolded his reluctance into a shuffle and followed Jed out. Lindy turned to embrace Rachel.

Ella lit a burner on the stove and filled the coffeepot with water.

Lindy entered the kitchen alone.

“Where’s Rachel?” Ella had supposed they would both come.

“I told her I would bring kaffi.”

Ella scooped ground coffee into the percolator receptacle. “You did the right thing by bringing David home.”

Lindy shrugged one shoulder. “It doesn’t seem to have done any good.”

“He shouldn’t be sneaking around.” Ella set two slices of coffee cake on a plate and nudged it down the counter toward Lindy.

“I agree. But he’ll do it again.”

“Maybe not,” Ella said, though she thought Lindy was right.

“Jed should let David go to school. He’ll be sixteen in a year anyway.”

“What if he wants to stay in school long enough to graduate high school?” The coffee started to bubble.

“He’ll be old enough to decide,” Lindy said. “I wasn’t in school, but I was sixteen when I knew I wouldn’t stay with the Amish.”

A fork shook in Ella’s hand. “Is that what you think David wants? To leave the church?”

“I haven’t asked him,” Lindy said, “and I won’t. But I’ve known him all his life, and I’ve never seen him behave this way. Rachel and Jed have to listen to him and find out what’s in his heart.”

Ella removed a tray from a cupboard and arranged the cake plate and two coffee cups on it.

“Are you going to say that to Rachel?” Ella said, tucking two napkins under the edge of the plate.

Lindy paused before saying, “Rachel means a lot to me. I want her to be happy.”

A
glance at the sun told James he was running later than he planned, but he wouldn’t leave the farm on Wednesday morning without kissing his wife. He stroked the horse’s nose, with an unnecessary warning not to gallop off with the loaded wagon, and started toward the house.

As he rounded the corner of the barn, a fleeting sound—a faint footfall—made him pause and look over his left shoulder. But he saw nothing unexpected. His biggest canvas tarp secured the lumpy load he was taking into town. He was transporting two end tables, the usual assortment of eggs in a range of colors, and a carefully packed quilted wall hanging Miriam had just finished. The mercantile owner now kept a list of customers who were interested in Amish handiwork. Most likely he wouldn’t even put Miriam’s latest creation on display, because it would sell before his best customers could answer their phones to learn it was there.

James turned back toward the
dawdihaus,
where he hoped to find Miriam with her feet propped up after the morning skirmish of getting the girls readied and to the bus stop on time.

Miriam looked up as James entered. “Will you be long today?” she said.

“I don’t expect to be. I’m just stopping at the mercantile and then on to Lindy’s.” He could have sanded down and refinished the end tables himself, but Miriam had insisted they ask Lindy to do it and pay her a fair price.

“Good.” Miriam nodded.

He kissed her and ambled back out to the wagon to take up the reins. At least the bus had come and gone. If the road was clear, he might make up for lost time and still be at the mercantile when the owner opened the doors.